


A Paragon, a Paraclete

by easiIyamused



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: AND IT IS, Because I can, Fluff, Other, and by juno checking on peter at the start of autobots, but ignoring a Certain Moment, but you know it's a global pandemic and we're all touch starved, ever since juno did the Gentle Shush i have been Rabid, i also don't usually write juno but i'm trying!, set 9 months after current canon, so enjoy, so yes this is about tenderness and accepting help and Himbo Rights, this is ooc because there is a lot of domesticity and sweetness, which i don't usually write so it might be weird?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25170379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easiIyamused/pseuds/easiIyamused
Summary: “So- we measure things first?”“Usually.”“Remind me what a cup is, love? Is it the same as a kilo?”Maybe it will all go catastrophically wrong.This was saved as 'Bro we are tender' in my drafts... Juno and Peter make a cake and that's all that happens but I still managed to write over 3000 words about it.Title from Happy Birthday by Sufjan Stevens, because he gets it.Could be a sequel to my fic Aching Inside, but it still makes sense if you don't read the first one. So many choices!
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 9
Kudos: 86





	A Paragon, a Paraclete

“This is going to go wrong. It’s going to go catastrophically wrong and it’ll be our fault and we’ll get absolutely eviscerated. I can see it now, I’m having a vision.”

“It’s… a cake." Juno is fixing Peter with a bemused stare as his boyfriend gazes grimly at the kitchenette in front of them. 

“Yes, dear, but you’ll recall what happened when I tried to make instant ramen-”

“-It wasn’t great, but it was edible! Just crunchy.”

“Precisely. I just think that anything culinary I touch has the thrilling habit of turning to utter rubbish, and it would be a far better plan for me to sit here and look pretty while _you _make the cake?” He takes Juno’s hand as he speaks, pulls him close, pouts a little for good measure. Juno rolls his eyes and yanks Peter to his feet, steadying him with his free arm,__

__“Come on, Nureyev," they're close enough that no one would be able to hear them, even if they tried, "No flirting your way out of this one. It was your idea.”_ _

__“It was a thought, I didn’t think you'd encourage it.”_ _

__“It was a good thought, we've got nothing better to do and, hey, you might be secretly great at baking-" Nureyev goes to make a smart comment but Juno gets there first, "Come _on! _” He’s dropped Peter’s hand and is tying an apron around his neck. Peter gives in, just a little. Picks up the comms with the recipe on the screen and reads through it again,___ _

____“They make multiple types of butter?”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah, with salt and without. And some butter isn’t really butter. It’s kinda complicated, now that I think about it.” Juno says, clipping his hair out of his eyes. Peter is glaring at the comms like he’s trying to decipher some ancient solar code. It must be a lot for someone who only recently found out that potatoes were a vegetable to take in, Juno thinks. He wraps his arms around Nureyev from behind in an effort to be supportive, chin hooked over a shoulder so that he can see the recipe, too. Peter barely registers the contact, still fixed on the text in front of him,_ _ _ _

____“So- we measure things first?”_ _ _ _

____“Usually.”_ _ _ _

____“Remind me what a cup is, love? Is it the same as a kilo?”_ _ _ _

____Maybe it will go catastrophically wrong._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____..._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____They do manage to measure everything out, against all odds. Peter won’t touch the sugar- or maybe it’s more of a can’t, actually, judging by how his face twitches involuntarily when Juno picks the bag up. He mumbles something under his breath about what it does to your teeth, your skin. But he doesn’t bolt out of the room or start breathing funny, and that’s what matters._ _ _ _

____Instead, Peter stands still, slightly leaning on Juno because his bad leg continues to be a little shaky, and then helps with the flour without complaint. Juno pecks him on the cheek, silent acknowledgment of how well he’s doing. Nureyev tries to turn and kiss him properly, flicking flour everywhere in the process._ _ _ _

____“Oy…”_ _ _ _

____“It’s fine, babe,” Juno says, dusting them both off as best he can, “always happens. Comes off with water. You need to whisk the flour and the raising agents together.”_ _ _ _

____“Raising agents?”_ _ _ _

____“The two grainy white powders. Bicarb and baking soda.”_ _ _ _

____“What’s the difference?”_ _ _ _

____“I don’t actually know, but you need both and you need to whisk them. Trust the process.”_ _ _ _

____Nureyev nods and goes at the bowl with a whisk and an admirable level of enthusiasm, for which he is rewarded with another, thicker face full of flour. He looks like a ghost from a shitty stream. Juno really does try not to laugh, but he can’t help himself._ _ _ _

____“You are absolutely hateful, Juno Steel. Don’t look at me.” Peter grumbles as he all but flounces over to the sink to rinse himself off._ _ _ _

____“Not my fault you don’t know how to use a whisk!” Juno calls after him, voice a little hoarse with laughter. Peter flips him off with the hand he’s not using to wet his face. Juno rolls his eyes and gestures for Peter to come back over to the counter. Hands him the whisk and turns him around to face the bowl. Puts one hand over Nureyev’s and coaxes it into moving in quick, gentle little circles, free arm around his waist. “More like that… see?” Peter nods, leaning back a little, enjoying the contact. Juno clicks his teeth, “Keep going, don’t get distracted. I’m gonna start beating eggs.”_ _ _ _

____“And what did they ever do to you?”_ _ _ _

____“I’m sure you’re the first person to ever make that joke, ever.”_ _ _ _

____“Good, so am I.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____..._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____After a fashion, and some serious confusion over what creaming even means, the two tins are in the oven. The counter is a flour crusted mess and they’ve somehow managed to use every single bowl in the cupboard, but the batter looked relatively smooth and Juno feels hopeful as he attempts to take on the mound of washing up. Peter sits at the table, drying whatever Juno passes him and propping his leg up on a second chair to rest it. When he scrunches his nose up and closes one eye to check that a spoon is dry, Juno feels a movement in his chest. Something sticky and warm and soft. He turns back to the sink._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“Did you bake when you were younger? With Benzaiten?” Nureyev’s voice is gentle, no theatrics. He’s looking over at Juno now, eyes wide and interested. Juno nods,_ _ _ _

____“Yeah, sometimes. Benten loved chocolate cake, but Ma didn’t, so I taught myself how to make it, from a cooking stream. I think it was for our 11th birthday? Anyway, he liked it, so after that, I made one every year, and figured out how to adjust it for other people. Sasha likes lemon poppyseed and Mick likes funfetti, even now that he’s a grownass man-” Juno pauses and turns around, suddenly worried that he might be boring. But Nureyev is still watching him intently, drying paused, left hand propping up his head. There’s a little, pensive smile on his lips as he speaks,_ _ _ _

____“What do you like?”_ _ _ _

____“Cake-wise?”_ _ _ _

____“Mhm.”_ _ _ _

____“Red velvet. You?”_ _ _ _

____“I’m not sure. Red velvet is good, if I remember rightly.”_ _ _ _

____“Do they have cake on birthdays in Brahma? Or is that more of a thing closer to our sun?” Juno asks, turning back around to his work. He keeps his tone light, not wanting to push. Trivial as it the question sounds, anything about Brahma is touch-and-go._ _ _ _

____“Again, not sure. I’ve - never had a birthday? So I wouldn’t know, even if they did.” Peter says, uncharacteristically quickly. Juno turns around again and really looks at Nureyev. His eyes are fixed on the floor as if he’s said something secret and bad._ _ _ _

____“Never?” Juno makes an effort not to sound shocked. Peter shakes his head. “Can I ask why? We don’t have to talk about it if-”_ _ _ _

____“-it’s alright, Juno. Really.” He sounds tired. Juno wants to press kisses to the little worry line that has appeared on his browbone, which always turns up during Difficult Conversations, until it disappears._ _ _ _

_______“My fa- Mag- the man who raised me didn’t believe in anything like that. I got a present on his birthday, not my own. I don’t think he knew what the actual date was, and if he did he had no reason to tell me.”_  
“But you’re sure that you’re 36?”  
“I am. Give or take a few years. That’s what it says on my wanted poster. I suppose if anyone were to know, it would be the totalitarian regime I was born under.” 

____Juno nods as if this is completely normal and understandable. They’re silent for a few long minutes. The bowl Peter was supposed to be drying is dripping onto the green tablecloth Jet bought on Roonagh 14. His eyes are glazed over, he probably isn’t even aware that Juno’s still watching, waiting for him to say something._ _ _ _

____When nothing seems to be forthcoming, Juno clears his throat, “You can have my birthday, if you like.”_ _“Juno-”_ _ _ _

____“Seriously. I’m used to sharing it.” Juno says, a little ruefully. “It’d be an honor.” The light has come back to Peter’s eyes, just a bit. Or maybe they’re misting up. It’s hard to tell, behind the dusty glasses. He finally meets Juno’s gaze and reaches out a hand in a silent plea. Juno moves forward quickly, wraps his arms around Peter’s shoulders, and feels his waist encircled in turn. Everything smells like cologne and brown sugar and coffee. It’s not a bad place to be._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____After a moment, Peter peels his face away from where it’s been pressed into Juno’s chest and looks up at his partner. “It’s kind of you to offer, but that day is for you and Benzaiten. Really. I’ve missed the boat on having a birthday, and that’s alright.”_ _ _ _

____“Well- let me know if you change your mind.”_ _ _ _

____“I will.”_ _ _ _

____“If you do, I’ll throw you the biggest, most ridiculous birthday party ever. Cake and stupid hats and all. All you gotta do is pick a date. Okay?” Juno traces the shape of Nureyev’s face as he speaks. It’s softer than it used to be. Peter nods, then sniffs once, twice. Juno is suddenly aware of a rather loud beeping noise. “Oh, fucking shit-”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____…_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“So, they’re toasty.”_ _ _ _

____“Definitely toasty. Certainly more toasty than charred, I’d say.”_ _ _ _

____“For sure, nothing that a trim won't fix.” Juno nods as they survey the slightly blackened sponges perched atop the cooker. Nureyev is consulting the recipe again._ _ _ _

____“It says we need to make the syrup for the sponges. White sugar and water?”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, that’s easy. You just have to keep stirring until it all dissolves. Wanna try?”_ _ _ _

____“I’m sure I can manage. I can whisk now, the universe is my oyster!” Peter flips the spatula in his hand for emphasis. Juno huffs a laugh and passes him a pan._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____They’re quiet as Peter stirs and Juno flicks through old cooking streams on his comms, trying to find the one that he learned from. Lots of familiar faces. Cooking streams are Juno’s favorite, because at the end of the day there are no stakes, you always end up with a plate of food and a nice goodbye. They’re great to fall asleep to when you’re twenty-six, coming down and sick with anxiety- or nearly forty and unable to sleep for thoughts of tombs and eyes and screaming. This one is especially good, he thinks as he finally locates the exact episode he was looking for. A lady in her thirties with grey streaked hair, clapping her hands together and talking about the type of cocoa powder you should be buying. Juno can basically recite it from memory._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____He’s about to call Nureyev over to look when he’s interrupted by a string of cursing in a language he can’t decipher. Atop the stove is a pan full of rising black bubbles and a considerable amount of smoke. Peter is coughing and holding his own right hand in his left, his glasses fogged up from the burnt sugar. Juno’s on his feet in seconds, all but hurling the pan into the sink and running cold water onto it, then punching the extractor fan on._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____As the smoke gradually recedes, Juno pours a hefty amount of dish soap into the pan and leaves it to sit before hopping over to where Peter is massaging his burnt fingers, face fixed in a scowl. Juno decides not to lead by asking how the fuck he managed to burn something that was ninety percent water, instead opting for a quiet, “Here. Lemme see.” Nureyev lets him take his hand, inspect the red flesh dotted with white where the mixture spat up and onto him. It looks painful, but far from life-altering. “Aw, baby,” Juno soothes, pressing light little kisses to the affected area. Peter’s breath hitches and his face softens, frown smoothed out and eyes wide. When he speaks he sounds a bit defeated,_ _ _ _

____“I thought that putting the heat up would make it work faster?”_ _ _ _

____“Just makes it burn faster, sadly. You gotta be patient with this stuff.”_ _ _ _

____“I’m not- very good at that.” There’s a sheepishness to the admission, to the way Peter is speaking, candid and quiet and with a vague hint of a more traditional outer rim accent, that is insanely endearing. Juno kisses him on the mouth then, because if he doesn’t he might die._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____…_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Half an hour later, the kitchen has reverted to its previous state of carnage. Powdered sugar lines almost every surface, a balloon whisk has been broken and there is a patch of something weird and sticky on the floor. However, there is also a decent looking three-tiered coffee cake with what could be called a marble pattern (only from a very specific angle) on top and no major structural issues. Juno and Peter keep nudging each other and then looking at the cake and then back at each other and grinning as they tidy up._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“It’s a triumph,” Nureyev avows from where he’s scraping frosting off the microwave door._ _ _ _

____“We should go straight and start a bakery. Rita would love it.” Juno’s mostly joking. Mostly. He does keep getting disgustingly sappy thoughts of cute little houses with bay windows and open-plan apartments with spare rooms for friends recently. Of making a home, or something close to it. He keeps them inside, usually. Chooses to see them as a happy symptom of finally being able to imagine a future, instead of something else, some yearning to settle down with someone who has never been settled in his life._ _ _ _

____“Mhm, wonderful idea, Detective. It’ll be dust within a week of opening, if I have anything to do with it.”_ _ _ _

____“You can be the face, then. And the decorator, you’re actually not bad at all that marbling and icing stuff.” It’s funny, playing the optimist. Actually feeling a little optimistic. Juno doesn’t hate it._ _ _ _

____“True. I’m known for being exceptional with my hands.” Peter smirks, raising an eyebrow. Juno rolls his eye and throws a dishcloth at him._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____…_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____The next morning, Buddy Aurinko wakes up to the sound of her cabin door sliding shut. She sits up quickly, blaster to hand, looks to the left- Vespa’s there, sleeping soundly, face smooshed against the pillow. It’s still dark and sleep is hard to come by these days, so Buddy engages the night vision setting of her cybernetic eye. Just to the right of the door is what appears to be a mound of glitter and paper._ _ _ _

____On closer inspection, it’s actually two boxes, one large and two medium, and four handmade-looking cards. One is adorned with a wobbly, one-eyed smiley face, one looks like it’s been fashioned out of one of Jet’s mindful coloring pages, one is absolutely coated in glitter and stickers and one in a muted green color with the most beautiful gold swirly handwriting on the front. Buddy relaxes. This is almost definitely not a trap._ _ _ _

____She’s suddenly overcome by a very childish impulse to open the boxes right now, to take a little look. Back in the day, Mom had to hide their presents in the most random places because Buddy and her siblings were unparalleled in their ability to weed out any exciting new object within minutes of it entering the house._ _ _ _

____The suit she was given for her 18th birthday, black and tailored and double-breasted, identical to the ones that Mom, Grandpa and her brothers all had, but for Buddy’s specific initials sewn onto the left lapel, had been hidden in a temperature proof bag inside a large bag of spinach inside the deep freeze in the basement. It had taken Buddy a whole hour and a half to find, she had to hand it to her mother. Smiling at the memory, she allows herself the indulgence of peeking into the largest box. After all, she thinks, you only turn sixty a few times._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____…_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Later, they’re having drinks in the rec room. Rita has made some bunting that’s so garish it almost swings right back to being gorgeous, and the lights have been programmed to flash all the colors of the rainbow at regular intervals, like in an ancient disco. Music blasts from the sound system. It’s a nice party, if a little underpopulated._ _ _ _

____Juno is fixing himself a drink at the bar, something fizzy and orange and not too strong because apparently bourbon isn’t a ‘party drink’ and he gets ‘broody and weepy’ when he has too much. He doesn’t agree with these observations, but, as he’s a guest, he complies. Turns around and surveys the room. Jet is drinking what looks like a pint-sized Shirley Temple and swaying to the music in a way that’s almost cool in how sedentary and stiff it is. Beside him, Nureyev and Rita are begging Vespa to dance with them, both tipsy and giggling with pink and purple glitter on their temples and cheeks. Juno can’t quite tell, but he thinks Vespa might be suppressing a laugh herself as Rita tries to spin her around._ _ _ _

____He’s suddenly aware of a presence to his side and turns to see Buddy. She’s conceded to a little glitter on her temple too, and it shines under the warm pink light as she rests her elbow on his shoulder. He smiles without thinking, raises his glass in her direction. She smiles back, clinks their glasses together._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“Happy birthday, Captain.”_ _ _ _

____“Thank you, darling. And thank you again for the cake and the card.” Buddy adds, eyes now fixed on the makeshift dancefloor, on which some pretty awful, shaky dancing is taking place. Juno watches too, face warm with affection._ _ _ _

____“It was,” he clears his throat, “Ransom’s idea. The cake. He said that last month you talked about missing the coffee cake back home?”_ _ _ _

____“The selective memory on that one will never cease to amaze me,” Buddy sighs, with more fondness than exasperation, “he can remember that, but not when his chore days are!?” Juno snorts with laughter,_ _ _ _

____“Very selective. Skillset, too. Gave himself some gnarly burns trying to make it without me literally holding his hand through all the steps.” They both laugh lightly then, watching Peter and Vespa argue passionately about the order you take a tequila shot in while still half-dancing._ _ _ _

____"It’s one of those 10,000-hour things, cooking. He’ll get better with practice.” As Buddy speaks, her wife and a nameless thief do shots out of bedazzled glasses. Juno nods,_ _ _ _

____“That’s what I said, but he’s not so sure.”_ _ _ _

____“Or maybe, somewhere underneath it all, he likes being helped. Just a little bit.” It’s said with a little smirk, knowing but not unkind. Juno makes a noise of assent, half-distracted by the visual of Nureyev leaning on Vespa a little, laughing breathlessly at her face post-tequila._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Juno catches his boyfriend’s eye. Peter gives him a little wave as if they haven’t been together all day. As if they’re perfect strangers or casual acquaintances in a club. Juno winks at him and Peter’s face melts a little. He tilts his head to one side quickly, mouths _come-and-dance-they-are-awful-at-this-! _Juno lifts up one finger in response, then turns back to Buddy,___ _ _ _

______“I think you might be right, Captain. Just a little bit.”_ _ _ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. thanks for reading this! i hope you had a lovely day.
> 
> 2\. inspired by a post by this-is-a-podcast-fanblog on tumblr
> 
> 3\. when sufjan stevens said:
> 
> 'Yours will number, yours will be  
> A paragon, a Paraclete  
> Keep your bed warm, keep your humor  
> Keep your proverbs short and sweet
> 
> I'm sorry, I'm sorry  
> That life is anxious, life is mean' 
> 
> i thought 'that has carte blanche gang healing energy and i LOVE IT'
> 
> 4\. comments r so nice?
> 
> 5\. thanks again and bye!


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